Page 28 of Cold Curses

The demon limped forward, dragging the foot I’d apparently managed to injure. Black blood gleamed like ink beneath the security lights. It was a nightmare.

I rolled my numb shoulder, tried to wake it up, and raised my sword with my left hand.

“This isn’t your territory,” I told it. “It’s a human workplace, and you are very bad for morale.”

Limp. Drag. Ooze.

The demon opened its mouth to scream, and the stuff of nightmares would have had nightmares about the consecutive rows and rows of teeth that lined its gullet. And I was supposed to be its meal.

It lunged—faster than it should have been able to on land—and I spun away, tried to put space between us and give myself time to reposition before facing it again. But a hooked claw caught the heel of my boot and pulled with enough force to throw me off-balance. I hit the ground at an angle that at least dislodged the claw. But before I could move, the demon loomed over me, jaws unhinging to show its seemingly infinite dentition.

I rolled over just as a drop of saliva fell, hit my leg, and sizzled. Then burned a hole right through my clothes to bare skin.

“Oh, definitely not,” I muttered. I kicked up, but the angle didn’t work. Its torso was too far off the ground. Instead, I aimed for its leg while fumbling for my sword, tried to swipe up between myself and the creature. I managed one shot, but that just had more acidic blood pouring over my arm. And that shit hurt.

The demon shrieked again, the sound like metal against metal. Its teeth moved closer….

And then the sky lit up with light that was nearly blinding. Someone had turned on the office’s emergency floodlights. The creature, apparently sensitive to light, screamed again and turned around to look for the perpetrator.

Petra stood behind it, a fireball in her hand. “Go home!” she said, and aimed.

The creature flapped its wings, sending a shower of acid and demon-infused air over me as it headed toward the tree line, but it wasn’t fast enough to avoid the bolt of lightning that zagged out of Petra’s hand. She hit the creature in the back. It screamed and flapped its wings, sending another spray of its caustic blood across the parking lot.

“Go home!”Petra demanded again, gathering energy in her hand for round two.

The demon had apparently had enough. It pushed hard, lifted, and disappeared into the night sky.

I lay back on the concrete, breathed. Waited until there were footsteps nearby and a gloved hand in front of my face. It was Petra. I took her hand, hopped to my feet, and rolled my now-tingling shoulder.

“Thanks for the assist,” I said.

“Welcome.”

“What the fuck was that?” Theo asked as we approached the building’s portico.

“Winged demon,” I said. “There’s something for your chart.”

* * *

It wasn’t the first attack of the day. There had been four reported demon encounters before the sun had gone down. One probably wasn’t a demon: A dog had lashed out at a kid chasing it with a stick. The other three demons had caused five human injuries and plenty of property damage, including one who’d worked his way down the Dan Ryan, tossing cars around for fun and enjoyment. Fortunately, there’d been no more human deaths. At least, not beyond the humans at the warehouse. Unfortunately, none of the demons had been captured. So they were still out there wreaking havoc.

“There are still multiple wards in place,” I said when we were safely ensconced in the office. “How are the demons managing to avoid them? Are they playing follow-the-leader and mimicking Rosantine’s precise route through Chicago?”

“They must be,” Roger said. “There haven’t been any disturbances at the operating wards. Word has apparently spread.”

“Maybe there are more holes than we thought,” Petra said, frowning at the map she’d put on-screen. It showed the locationsof the defensive wards we’d previously identified through math and logic, and highlighted the two that had already been triggered.

“We’ve been presuming they provide complete coverage for the city,” she continued, “but maybe they don’t. Maybe the demons stayed out of Chicago because it was basically a minefield, and that was enough for a while.”

“Maybe the ley line surge increased their ability to detect the wards,” I said. “Is that a thing?”

Petra shrugged. “No manual. We’d know a lot more if those crazy Victorians had left one.”

“The mayor wants us to pull up that welcome mat,” Roger said. “But her legal team is concerned about the legalities of cops and Ombuds physically transporting demons out of Chicago—nonmagically, I mean—if they refuse to leave.”

“Legalities?” Theo asked.

“There’s nothing illegal about their being here,” Roger said. “Being a demon, on its own, isn’t a crime. At least not yet.”